MARTIN POLLOX MAKES A MOVE.
For the moment after the servant announced that Sluggers wanted to see
him, Martin Pollox did not move.
Then with a great effort he drew himself together.
“Wait a minute,” he said to Larry and Mary Vern. “Wait until I come
back. And leave those things exactly as they are,” and he pointed at
the drawings.
He slipped from the room and they heard him hurry to the front hallway.
A quick murmur of voices followed.
“I wonder if he will bring Check Sluggers in here,” said Larry in a low
voice, and added: “That rascal is Mr. Pollox’s best, or worst, tool.”
Mary shook her head sorrowfully. Such villainy as she was witnessing
was beyond her innocent young heart to understand.
In a minute more, before Larry could do anything with the drawings,
even if he so desired, Martin Pollox came back. As he approached they
heard the front door slam and knew that Check Sluggers had been sent
away.
“I—er—it was too bad I was interrupted,” said Martin Pollox, hardly
knowing what to say. Then he gathered himself together. “Let me see,
where were we at? Oh, yes, I offered you two hundred dollars for saving
Mary’s life. I think that is a nice sum for any young man to receive.
Come, are you willing to accept?”
For a moment our hero remained silent. He felt that something was
wrong, yet he could not tell exactly what. Was the rascal before him
trying to bribe him?
“Excuse me, Mr. Pollox, but I don’t want your money,” he said at last.
“It is not his money,” broke in Mary. “It is money my papa wished you
to have.”
“If Mr. Vern wanted me to have this money why didn’t you let me have it
before?”
“I—er—I was too busy to attend to everything,” stammered Martin
Pollox. “I became Mary’s guardian quite unexpectedly and I had a great
task to straighten Mr. Vern’s affairs out. Even yet there is much to
do which remains undone. He was mixed up in so many business schemes.”
“Did he appoint you his executor?” asked Larry, curiously.
“That is my business, Mr. Barlow. I offer you the money freely. You can
take it or leave it, just as you please.”
“If Mr. Vern wanted me to have it you can give it to me,” said Larry,
after a moment’s pause.
Getting up with an effort, Martin Pollox went to his desk, took out a
box containing a pocketbook and from this counted out the two hundred
dollars in bills.
“There you are.”
Larry took the money without a word. Then he turned to Mary. “I will
thank you, for your father’s sake, for this,” he said.
“If I had my way it would be a thousand,” she returned simply.
“Now, Barlow, let us be friends,” went on Martin Pollox. “If I can help
trace your father I’ll do so gladly.”
“Have you ever heard of this Redmund Daily since that time?”
“I have not. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll put a detective on
the track and pay him myself for his work.”
“Never mind about the pay—I’ll attend to that.”
There now seemed nothing more to say, and Martin Pollox showed that he
wished to get our hero out of the house.
As Larry passed Mary he whispered in her ear:
“Be on your guard. If you want help send me a message. I am going to
use the money to get at the bottom of this mystery.”
She stared at him, and then nodded, to show that she understood.
In a moment more he was outside and walking slowly toward the corner.
Martin Pollox watched him out of sight, then turned harshly toward Mary
Vern.
“Mary, don’t you ever dare to ask him into my house again,” he
commanded.
“Can’t I have anybody come to see me?” she asked slowly.
“Yes, you can have the proper kind of persons—when your cousin Laura
is around, or I am here.”
“You are very hard on me, Mr. Pollox.”
“I know what is best for you.”
“My papa always let me choose my own company.”
“He was too indulgent with you. You ought to be above associating with
a common fireman.”
“Mr. Barlow is a gentleman.”
“A gentleman wouldn’t come in here to knock me down.”
“You said some dreadful things to him.”
“And I had a right to say them. His father was nothing but a sot—and
he knows it as well as I do. I gave him far more money than he
deserved—and that is my reward. I presume the young fellow will tell
everybody that I cheated him out of the invention.”
“If you have a clear claim you ought to be able to prove it to the
world.”
“I have a clear claim, but unfortunately I trusted too much to old man
Barlow. I should have had everything down in black and white, and then
there wouldn’t have been any trouble.”
To this Mary could make no reply.
“He is no fit companion for you. I wish you to move in the best of New
York society, as befits your station. What would our social friends say
if they knew you associated with a common fireman?”
“I don’t know what they would say—and I don’t care!” she burst out,
and ran off to her room, where she locked the door, threw herself on
the bed and gave herself over to a passionate fit of weeping.
“Oh, papa, papa!” she moaned. “Why did you die and leave me in the
hands of such a man as Martin Pollox? Oh, if only I had died with you!”
Martin Pollox strode up and down his library in a thoughtful mood.
“A narrow escape,” he muttered to himself. “I reckon I came in in the
nick of time. That young fellow knows altogether too much. If he had
looked all through that portfolio he might have run across something
that would have surprised him. I ought to have had the old drawings
burned up and new ones made.” He stopped short for a while. “I wonder
if he’ll push his investigations any further? If he does he may get
me into more hot water. I wish I could get him out of New York.” He
bit his thin lips reflectively. “Perhaps I can do that. I’ll ask Check
Sluggers about it.”
An hour later, when he was still in his library, Laura Pollox came in
from a shopping tour of the department stores.
“Laura, I want to see you a minute,” he said, and motioned her into the
library.
“What is it, father?” she questioned, anxiously, fearing he was going
to lecture her for the big bills she had sent in to be paid.
“I want to speak to you about Mary.”
“Oh!” and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“I want you to keep a close eye on her.”
“I always do.”
“But you always don’t!” he snapped. “When I came home today I found her
entertaining—whom do you think?”
“I’m sure I can’t guess.”
“That young fireman, Larry Barlow.”
“What—here in this house?” screamed the fashionable daughter.
“Yes; and what is more, Mary had him in this library and was showing
him my private drawings of inventions.”
“The idea! Has Mary no sense at all?”
“Evidently not. You must watch her closely.”
“I will! She shan’t disgrace us—no, indeed!” and Laura Pollox tossed
her head disdainfully.
“You must see to it that she has nothing more to do with that young
fireman.”
“I’ll do my best. But then I can’t watch her always. I must return
calls, you know, and she won’t always go along.”
“I’ve been thinking of a plan. How would you like to spend a month or
so at Asbury Park or Newport?”
“I’d like to go to Asbury Park. The Van Aldens are there.”
“Then supposing you go, and take Mary with you. It will do you both
good.”
The idea pleased Laura Pollox, for she wished to be near the Van
Aldens, who had a marriageable son with whom she was much smitten. She
did not care to have Mary along, but knew she could not go otherwise.
So, unknown to Mary, all matters were arranged for her and Laura to go
to Asbury Park the following Monday.
When told of the plan Mary demurred somewhat, but Martin Pollox would
not listen to her protestations.
“The trip will do you good,” he said. “Go and have a good time,” and he
saw his daughter and his ward off on the train.
When he returned home there was a smile of grim satisfaction on his
crafty face.
“Out of the way for a month,” he muttered. “And as for that young
Barlow—well, a good deal can happen in a month. Let him take care how
he crosses my path!”